by Tiffani Lynn
“I missed you, sister. Are you feeling bad?” She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. Her silence really makes me nervous. She’s a chatty girl with me most of the time.
“Nurse Agnes told me you haven’t been eating. You want me to go to the store and get you a sub sandwich? I’ll get your favorite, and I’ll even order extra pickles.” She shakes her head again and goes back to watching television. My sister is never this subdued. She’s full of animation and energy at all hours of the day.
A sour feeling builds in my stomach. Whatever is going on with her is not normal, and I’m afraid of what Doc will say about this. Georgia is three years younger than I am. She was born with Down syndrome and a multitude of other things. It’s probably a miracle she’s made it this far. She’s my last living family member, and I can’t imagine a world without her.
My first memory is of holding her in my lap the day my parents brought her home from the hospital. She was wrapped up in a pink fuzzy blanket and had a tiny pink hat on her head and her huge, exotic, almond shaped eyes stared up at me while her bright pink cheeks were glowing against her pale skin. I was in love instantly. I was as helpful as any three-year-old big sister could be. She was my shadow as we grew older, I took her everywhere I went, so she could do everything I did. I got in more than one fight as a kid because children were cruel and often made fun of her. I was never embarrassed of her, and until I started dating, I wanted her with me all the time. On dates she proved problematic, so I left her at home those nights, but most of the time, I took her with me wherever I went.
My dad was a seeping sack of crap and left when she was a year old. I’ve only seen him twice since. He showed up at my graduation, I saw him as we were getting ready to line up to start the ceremony so I had him thrown out. When he had the balls to appear at mom’s funeral, I just ignored him. I wanted to send him packing, but I didn’t want to make a scene and upset my sister. She never understood why she didn’t have a dad like all the other kids.
Georgia lived with my mom in the city and then with me for a while after Mom died. When she began having more medical issues than I could keep up with and needed 24/7 supervision, I had to find a facility that took care of people like her. She was in a group home close to me in the city, but I went by one afternoon to find she’d had a bowel accident with no one there to help her clean up. It was hours old and a huge mess. I flipped out and pulled her that day.
Doctor Jessup, better known to us as Doc, has been her doctor all of her life and also happens to be a client of the club. When I pulled her from the facility that day, I called Doc right away and he recommended Happy Faces Care Facility two hours north of town. I wasn’t happy with the idea of her being so far from me, but the reviews were amazing and the residents were all clean and happy when I visited the next day. Professional, friendly staff made it easier to forego my selfishness and place her there. Doc promised to continue with her care and make monthly visits unless otherwise needed. That helped a lot. The only issues I could find with Happy Faces was the distance from me and the monthly price tag. It was three times the cost of the last facility. After much discussion with Doc and Tanisha, I decided to do whatever was necessary to give my sister the very best. She’s been here and happy ever since.
I migrate over to a recliner in the corner and sit in silence waiting for Doc to arrive. My sister never says a word to me the whole time. Not too much later the sixty-year-old handsome doctor strolls through the door with a smile on his face. He gives me a wave and addresses Georgia first. “Hello, Miss Georgia. How are you feeling this afternoon? Did you eat your lunch like I asked?”
She glances at him but doesn’t say a word.
“Miss Georgia, I’m going to take your blood pressure and check your pulse, okay?”
Again she turns her attention to him but doesn’t say a word.
“I’m going to listen to your heart and lungs, too, okay?”
When he’s done he brushes her hair back over one ear and kisses her forehead before leading me into the hall.
“I don’t know why she’s stopped eating, but she has. She’s lost six pounds in the last two weeks, so the nurses are calling me several times a week with updates. I think we need to consider a feeding tube for now. Maybe if we get some vitamins in her she’ll perk up. If not, we may have to run some tests. What do you think, Darcy?”
Tears pool on the rims of my eyes. “Will it hurt her?”
“No, we’ll put her under so she won’t get upset. It’s an outpatient procedure. I’ll schedule it for some time this week. Can you meet me here a week after we do it? I want to recheck. I know it’s a long drive.”
“Of course. You have my cell number. I’ll come anytime you think I need to; the drive is not too bad. I like seeing her. Not like this, but I love to visit her.”
“Okay, I’ll have my staff let you know what’s going on. I’m going to do my best, but I can’t guarantee anything. Sometimes the body decides it’s done and we can’t do anything about it. You’re a good sister.”
He pats my cheek with affection and leaves me standing there. I kiss Georgia goodbye and promise to come back over later in the week. She never says a word; she just watches me go.
****
When I arrive back in the city, I park my car at my building, grab my license and debit card and haul my ass to Buddy’s Bar. Today was a long day, and I need a drink. When I arrive, the place is packed, so I squeeze in down near the far end of the bar on the only empty stool and order my drink. It’s rare for me to feel the need to get blotto, but I’m definitely feeling it now. I pound the first three straight whiskeys, allowing the burn to eat at my throat with satisfaction. I accept a shot of patron from a stranger down at the other end, and then switch to diet coke and rum with a twist of lime. It was my mother’s favorite drink and one I picked up over the years. At one point, Frankie, the bartender, tries to cut me off, but I throw such a fit that he gives me one any way. My vision is starting to blur, and I’m feeling a little woozy, so I lay my head on the bar top, thinking if I rest my eyes for a minute I’ll feel better.
****
The pounding in my brain is equivalent to sitting in a small room as a marching band has practice inside. A little disoriented as I open my eyes, I note that I’m lying on top of my covers with a t-shirt on I don’t recognize and nothing else. Thank God I’m in my room, but where did I get this t-shirt? My mouth tastes like cat puke and is so dry it almost hurts. I roll to my side facing the door to find a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. I swallow a slug of water and down the two white pills. Then I fall to my back. That took too much energy. My stomach rolls over like I might be sick, so I adjust myself to a sitting position and try to remember how I ended up like this.
As I’m contemplating this, Finn freaking Thompson steps out of my bathroom in nothing but a tiny towel. The little bit of fabric barely covering his hips draws my attention, and I can’t help but stare.
What the hell?
“I see you finally woke up. I was starting to get worried. I hope you didn’t have anywhere to be, because it’s one in the afternoon. Did you take the aspirin I left you?”
He glances toward the bedside table and answers his own question, “I’m glad you did. How do you feel?”
“Like shit.” I squint up at him, wondering if I conjured him out of thin air.
“How did you end up here, Finn?”
“Well, I stopped by Buddy’s to have a beer after the game. While I was there I found out you’d passed out on the bar and needed a ride home. Frank was searching the contact list in your cell phone for someone to call to come get you when I appeared. Afraid he’d call your grandma or something, I offered to take you home.”
“How’d you get me here?”
“I carried you.”
Cocking my head, I ask for clarification, “The whole way?”
“Yes, I was afraid you’d puke in my truck so I figured walking it would be better.”
I groan
and drop back to the mattress, which may be soft, but not soft enough to flop my head on with a massive hangover. Ugh.
“I’m sorry. I wish you called Charles or James or someone to come get me.”
“There was no way I was calling that fucker James to come get you, and I’m sure Charles was busy with the club and didn’t need to be running after you.”
“James is a good guy. Don’t be a jerk.”
“He’s a pussy. He wants you, but he’s not man enough to fight for you. No way was I leaving you to him.”
“Doesn’t explain why you’re still here.”
“I wasn’t sure how bad you were, and I didn’t want to leave you unconscious and alone. It didn’t seem safe.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry about that. You can go now. I’m sorry I ruined your night or morning or both. Sometimes I’m a real dumbass. I had an awful day yesterday, so I ended up at Buddy’s when I should’ve come home.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. I’ve been to morning skate and eaten breakfast. I came back because I was worried.”
“I’ll be okay after the marching band in my head takes a break.”
He steps into my closet and comes out wearing a pair of baggy mesh basketball shorts and no shirt. Dear God, shirtless Finn should be against the law.
He sits down next to me on the bed and inquires, “Who is Georgia?”
I close my eyes as the weight settles back in my stomach.
“My sister.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“We don’t know. I’m sure Doc thinks she’s dying but is afraid to tell me.”
“Does she have cancer?”
“No, she’s got Down syndrome and a plethora of medical problems. I went to see her yesterday at the facility where she lives. It’s two hours away. Doc told me he needs to insert a feeding tube since she won’t eat. She didn’t say a word to me yesterday. That’s not like her at all. It was a rough visit.”
Tears slip from my eyes and roll unchecked down my cheeks, so I turn away from him and wipe them away. Finn pulls me into his side and wraps his arms around me. His big body is warm and comforting against mine.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet and sincere.
“For what?”
“That you are hurting and your sister’s sick. For being a dick.” His sapphire eyes blaze with sincerity and it feels like too much to deal with right now.
I don’t say anything, because I’m not sure which time he’s talking about and my head hurts too much to contemplate it.
I try to push away from him. His compassion for me right now is too much. “You can go. Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry your night was ruined.”
“It wasn’t ruined; I would’ve been thinking about you anyway,” he says.
I close my eyes. “Don’t. It took me the whole week to stop crying.”
“I want to talk, about us, when you’re feeling a little better. I brought you something to eat and some Gatorade. You need it. Come on. Let me feed you.” His voice is sweet, comforting.
I look up at him, noticing that his hair is a little wilder than the last time I saw him, and I wonder when he last had a haircut. The room smells of biscuits and bacon.
My stomach threatens to revolt, and it must show on my face, because he encourages me, “Come on, take a few bites. Once you get these down, you’ll feel better and can take a shower.”
“Do you play tonight?”
“Yes. Do you have to work?”
“No, but I planned to go in to check on things. I obviously wasn’t there yesterday.”
“Can you come to my game and maybe have dinner with me after?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to go through what I went through last time.” I set the biscuit down, feeling less like eating than before.
“Nothing’s changed. We’re still the same people with the same challenges.”
“Maybe. But maybe I’m willing to bend a little. Can we talk about it? If we can come to an agreement, will you consider coming to my game and having dinner with me after?”
I’m wary, but hopeful. I won’t tell him about the hopeful part. “Let’s see how this talk goes, but can it wait until after I shower? I feel gross.”
He kisses my forehead and heads to the kitchen to throw away his remaining crust.
After consuming my breakfast and showering, I’m sitting on my couch wearing yoga pants and a comfy well-worn Cubs sweatshirt. I’m wringing my hands with nervous energy as I wait to have ‘the talk’ with Finn. I can’t imagine what’s changed even a little bit in the last week since he stormed out of my office.
Finn comes out of the kitchen where he’s just finished the dishes. He tosses the dish towel he was wiping his hands on back into the kitchen and I watch as his long strides carry him to the chair to the right of the couch. He sits down looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him before. I smile for an instant noticing that his body dwarfs the poor little chair.
“First I want to ask a couple of questions, okay?”
I nod hesitantly.
“How did you come to own a sex club?”
I let out the breath I was holding, relieved this is the first question. This is easy for me to answer.
“It’s random. My mom inherited a big sum of money after the death of my grandmother and deposited it in the bank. She sat on the money like a golden goose egg, using it for emergencies and Georgia’s many expenses. When she died, I inherited it. I’m educated enough to understand that letting a significant amount of money sit in the bank is not my best move. I mentioned that I was looking for creative investment opportunities during dinner with Doc and his family. I was dating his son at the time. A week later Doc contacted me and asked to meet me in person to discuss something personal. During our lunch, he proposed me buying Eden’s Odyssey. He brought financial statements and offered to take me on a tour. At first I was appalled and a little creeped out he’d even mentioned this, but when I got a look at the financials I realized I’d be stupid not to at least check it out. I toured the place two days later and was half freaked out and half curious.”
Eyes round with shock he asks, “Doc owned Eden?”
I nod before I inquire, “How do you know Doc?”
“Doc’s family has been friends with Bobby’s family for years. I met him right after I got traded here. That’s how Bobby found out about Eden.”
“Well, Doc’s wife knew about him owning Eden; she’s been part of the club scene for years, but his children did not and still do not know. He was afraid something would happen to him and the kids would find out, so he was looking to sell.
With our little black dresses on, Tanisha and I went to take the tour, I was not going alone. At first I was shocked and then intrigued. After the first night with Tanisha, when I realized it wasn’t some freaky place I visited every night for a week and shadowed the manager, trying to get an idea of what my daily responsibilities would be. By the end of the week, I decided it was a great investment, had a very good reputation and would allow me to take care of Georgia and continue to paint almost full time. I had my lawyer look over everything, and when he agreed it was legit, I bought the place.
“So what did Doc’s son say about all this? He wasn’t supposed to know his dad owned a sex club. How did you get around it?” His eyebrows knit in confusion.
“Our relationship was already on the rocks, so when I decided to buy Eden, I broke it off with him. The week I signed the papers, I quit my waitressing job and took over full ownership. Doc mentored me for a year while I learned the business and made some changes of my own. Then I hired James to help take some of the pressure off and allow me more time to paint and visit with Georgia.” The left side of my lips pull up in a half grin as I remember my first year of ownership of Eden’s. I was fascinated by all aspects of the club at the time.
“As I got to know the clientele and the staff, it felt more like home to me. It’s amazing how knowing people’s secrets can open doors to friendsh
ip. Our staff is close. I don’t hire anyone who may not mesh with the rest, but turnover is almost non-existent, so that’s not an issue. James is obviously still the manager. He’s good at what he does, and he likes it. My head of security, Charles, has been with me for six years. Former Army Ranger, special forces, and knows his shit. Security and safety were not a priority when I bought the place. It was one of the things I changed. Charles kicked our security’s ass when he took over, and I’m praying he never wants to leave. I don’t know what I’d do without him. All of my staff except Christina at the front desk has been with me for three plus years. Christina’s new because the last front desk girl ended up marrying one of our clients, and he wanted her there to participate, not work. She still comes in with him almost weekly.”
Telling him all of this stuff is giving me mixed feelings. On one hand I feel relieved that he’s finally hearing the whole story from start to finish instead of making assumptions that are likely untrue. On the other hand, I’m terrified about how he’ll react to everything I’ve said. The last guy I had to tell this story to hauled ass like I was chasing him with a chainsaw. It wasn’t pretty and it was quite painful for me.
“Do you really make so much money it’s worth it to stay?” he inquires, the tone of his voice giving away his disbelief.
“Yes, but I like it, so there’s no reason to give it up either.” If he had any clue what Eden’s profit is every year he’d be floored, but I don’t feel like he needs actual numbers yet.
“Tell me about James,” he demands. He clears his throat and says, “I’m sorry that came out rude. Can you please tell me about James?”
I sigh, knowing this is a touchy subject with Finn. “We started dating about a year after he started working for me. He was sweet and helpful and always around. Because he was my manager I spent a lot of time with him so when he asked me out it just felt natural to say yes. We dated for two years before we ended it.”
“Why did you end it if he was so great and you still work together?” I’m not appreciating Finn’s snarky tone. Hiding his disdain for James is not his strong suit.
